


Apple Shampoo

by eternity_in_my_pocket



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Cuddling, I have no idea where it will end, Kissing, M/M, Professor Steve Rogers, Public sexy times, Punk Bucky Barnes, Some Swearing, Teacher Steve Rogers, Teacher-Student Relationship, They're both of age, but Prof Rogers in a sweater is a daydream whoa man, could be taken as non-con, cute dates, facebook stalking, it's not actually non-con though, maybe a lot, so i'm going to mark it as such in the archive warnings to be safe, then steamy, things get cuddly, totally consensual, uncomfortable situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:14:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternity_in_my_pocket/pseuds/eternity_in_my_pocket
Summary: If there's anything Bucky is grateful for, it would be the fact that after amputating his arm, the medics at least gave him a functioning replacement arm before throwing him back into civilian life. If there were another, it would be that at least he had friends still in college he could con into making them take classes with him. If there was a third, it would be the way Professor Roger's sweater hugs his muscles like a damn banana peel.





	1. Of World Domination and Sneaky Looks

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own marvel characters obvs.  
> Teacher/Student relationships probably aren't the healthiest, but I had this thought of teacher!Bucky in my head but I ended up with this instead.  
> I am a huge fan of punk music; any of the bands mentioned please give a listen to! The Interrupters are hands down my favorite band at the moment.  
> This is probably going to be a series of drabbles because I can't get my thoughts around how to make a straight up story right now.  
> Updates when I have the energy.  
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Title credit goes to Blink 182 for their song of the same title - if you give it a listen you may get a sense of foreshadowing ...  
> xx - C

“James Buchanan Barnes,” his friend Natasha pointed an accusing finger at him, “If anyone is going to rule the goddamn world it’s going to be women.”

Bucky laughed and threw up his hands as they walked into the Sophomore Intro to British Literature course. The class was empty so far except for their professor, Dr. Steve Rogers. Bucky’s smile faltered and he hesitated before going in; ever since starting this class he had been ridiculously self-conscious about everything said around this guy, which didn’t even make fucking _sense_ because Rogers wasn’t even his _type_ but was also _his teacher for godssake!_ Bucky could feel his heart pounding in his throat although Rogers hadn’t even looked up from his computer where he was pulling up today’s power point for the lecture.

He pushed Nat ahead of him and followed her in, continuing their conversation, but now double aware of his every move. “I didn’t say I was disagreeing with you. I personally believe female-fronted punk bands will be the soundtrack to the revolution – whenever that may be – but until now, men still had the upper hand. Think about it, women are just now getting into positions of power in the US, until we get at least the first female president, world domination is a wet dream.” Wet dream? Bucky kicked himself, he hoped that Rogers hadn’t overheard.

“I can’t believe you just compared world domination to a wet dream.” Nat threw her bag down at their claimed table in the back and Bucky sat down on the tabletop beside her.

“I can’t believe we’re arguing about this.” He started to shrug off his flannel jacket, but once the fingers of his right hand touched the metal of his left, he paused and rolled his sleeves up instead. Although he was grateful for having an arm at all after his original was mercilessly amputated after some shrapnel cut into it, he was still self conscious about it, even if he told himself he wasn’t.

Nat noticed this small hesitation but didn’t say a word about it. Instead she leaned forward to whisper, “It looks like you have an admirer. Don’t look at the front now, wait a few.”

Bucky’s face heated at the word ‘admirer’ – as if that fantasy could actually come true – and he finished rolling his sleeves to the elbow before turning to the front to see Professor Rogers had finished setting up his laptop and was now shrugging off his jacket to reveal a royal blue sweater tight over a white collared shirt, watching the two of them with interest.

“Alright, let’s hear it,” Dr. Rogers waved his hand and leaned against the front of his desk, crossing his arms, sweater hugging his muscles like a fucking second skin.  
Bucky paused, licking his lips and biting back the words ‘that sweater should be illegal’ before sputtering stupidly, “What?”

“The playlist for the revolution, let’s hear it.” Roger’s eyes were full of amusement as he watched Bucky. 

Natasha watched the both of them, fully aware that she hadn’t been looked at twice, and fully aware that her friend was one hundred percent pining over the man in the front of the classroom – just like every other student. No one knew exactly how old Professor Rogers was, but he looked fresh out of grad school and had almost every student hanging on his every word. Which was good for them because who else would be able to understand Early British Lit with a monotone teacher?

Bucky held up his left hand and counted on his fingers naming off bands, “So far I’ve got Star Fucking Hipsters, the Interrupters, the Distillers, Garbage, and Nausea. Thinking about throwing in some classics – Blondie and X Ray Specs, but that’s all I’ve got so far. The revolution, if anything, is going to be loud.”

“Figures you’d like punk,” Rogers smiled, eyeing Bucky’s patched up flannel and ratty jeans. Bucky’s face heated again as he felt himself being inspected; the blood rushed to his ears so fast he almost didn’t hear Rogers add, “you might want to add G.L.O.S.S., Burning Lady, and Bad Cop Bad Cop to that list while you’re at it.”

“You listen to punk?” Bucky looked at the pristine professor over again in disbelief and tried to imagine this blonde haired man in jeans and a lazy day t-shirt, sweaty in a mosh pit. Or maybe to the side leaned up against a wall, beer in hand, eyes closed but ready to shove anyone away that stumbled up against him. He couldn’t quite picture the man at a concert but sweaty? That was something else…

“The saying “don’t judge a book by it’s cover” applies to people, too, Mr. Barnes. Pay attention, people may surprise you,” he said turning back to his desk, but not before giving a toothy smile and fucking _winking._

Bucky spun around to Nat, who merely grinned and started digging in her pack for a pen while the other students started piling in.  
After class Bucky had to excuse himself from his friend to “make sure he locked his car” and made a detour to the bathroom to take care of an aching problem that had been bothering him all class period because _goddammit_ if Rogers didn’t fucking lick his lips every time he looked over at him. He came in a wad of toilet paper thinking about Professor Rogers’ lips and how his sweater hugged his arms like a fucking banana peel.

Leaving the bathroom frustrated, he told himself thinking about his teacher had to stop.


	2. Of Bets and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is a betting man and, man, is he going to lose so much money.

Bucky groaned and tossed his head back, accidentally bumping it on the wall behind him. He swore under his breath when he tilted further back in his chair and then he almost fell over as his phone buzzed on the wooden table, the vibration echoing throughout the lower floor of the library. Natasha leaned her head around the study cube and chided a “shush,” giving the chance for Bucky to roll his eyes before she dove back into her notes.

They were in the library trying to speed read through some books to grab notes for a paper, and Bucky was getting restless. The words on the pages started blurring together and he would throw this book across the room if he couldn’t get his eyes to focus and actually pay attention to the one paragraph he’d read at least five times.

He turned his attention to his phone to put it completely on silent, but not before noticing which notification that had popped up.

“Um… Nat?”

Natasha leaned around the corner again, drawling out her response, “Yes?”

“Honest response here,” he said trying to keep his poker face and the thoughts flashing across his mind off his lips, “just because I’m new to this college thing, technically. How common is it that teachers Friend students on Facebook?”

“Well… I mean, most of the teachers I’m friends with on Facebook only allowed me to add them after the semester was over. But most teachers don’t add students.” She eyed him suspiciously, “Who added you?”

Bucky’s face was a stone, but like always, his ears turned red betraying him. He silently showed Natasha his phone screen and she gasped, pulling the phone away from him.

“No fucking way. You’re going to add him, right?”

He pulled his phone back and worried on his bottom lip, “I dunno, Nat. Do you think it’s a good idea?”

Natasha scooted her chair an inch closer, “Barnes, here’s the way I see it: You’re a young, eligible bachelor,” Bucky snorted at this but she continued, “You haven’t been in a relationship in a few years, granted, so it’s time you get back out there – whats-his-face was a dick. You’re twenty one years old, he can’t be older than, what, twenty eight? _Maybe_ thirty tops? Once you finish his class, if you never have him as a teacher again, as far as I know he can’t get fired. I could be wrong. I probably am wrong.” She shrugged, “So… worst case scenario is he could get fired, but he’s making the move here.”

“Right.” 

He stared down at the notification. The worst thing that could happen is the guy could get fired. But then again, it could be nothing, right? It’s not like everyone who adds you has alternative motives. And really, if he just ignored it he could remain ignorant and say he never gets on Facebook anymore. That is, if he’s ever confronted about it. Which he doubted he would be, but who knew. Was it really worth lying?

Bucky’s thumb hovered over CONFIRM. Should he wait? I mean. The guy _did_ just request it. Would that look like he’s too eager?

“Are you chicken, Barnes?” 

He shot his friend a glare and hit the button. He looked down at the screen and he could feel his heart stuck in his throat.

“You are now friends with, STEVE ROGERS. Send them a message to say hello?”

~x~

The rest of the week passed by completely uneventful. Bucky and Nat met every afternoon to study in the library and spent most of Saturday bumming around until that evening when Natasha had a date and left Bucky to his lonesome. Monday classes came and went, and so did Tuesday’s almost two hour lecture with Dr. Rogers. After the previous week, Bucky was a little wary to come into class, but Rogers was still the same as usual, smiling every chance he got and seemingly shooting Bucky looks that he tried not to look into.

“He’s got to be looking at someone else.” He told Natasha at lunch. “There’s no fucking way he’s been looking at me.”

“Right.” Natasha laughed, “Will you promise not to kill me if I tell you something?”

Bucky contemplated around a bite of pizza and replied, “Not a chance. With that lead in, I’m already mad. Spill. What did you do?”

“Ease up Barnes. But… I may have been asking around to see if anyone else is friends with Rogers on Facebook.”

He groaned, “Ugh, verdict?”

“Sounds like you’re a lucky guy. Everyone I’ve asked whose even friended the guy say he hasn’t accepted. They either figure he doesn’t get on much or doesn’t add students.” Natasha gave him a meaningful look and downed the rest of her glass of water.

He rolled his eyes and huffed, “It’s just a fluke.”

“Wanna bet?” She taunted. 

He kicked himself for applying to this school where this witch from his childhood went, and he kicked himself for staying in touch with her. She knew how to get under his skin in the worst possible ways and did it with the most innocent look on her face.

“Y’know what, yeah. Let’s bet on it.” Bucky dropped his food and pushed his plate out of the way, pulling out his wallet to see how much he had on him, “Twenty bucks says it’s nothing and it’s all in my head. Another twenty says that he probably just added me because he wanted to stalk my page and see what other weird shit I’m into – because why not, that guy looks like a bum _and_ he lost his arm in the army so he must have some gross stories. And _another_ twenty says that he has a girlfriend.”

“You’re so full of shit Barnes, are you really willing to lose that much money? Did they teach you to make irrational bets like that in Panama? Alright. I’ll match your bet and if you’re wrong I get the sixty. But I’m raising you another twenty. Twenty says he messages you by the end of the week, and another twenty says that your tongues will be down each other’s throats within the month.” Cheshire cat smile, she stood up and picked up her dishes to take to the wash, “You better find a crisp hundred bill, Barnes, I like the way they lie flat in my wallet.”

~x~

Bucky was so fucked. Maybe… maybe if he pinched himself hard enough he would wake up. Maybe he was hallucinating? Setting piles of cocaine on fire in the jungle had to have lasting side effects, right? He threw his phone down on the couch and walked his way through the small apartment, making his way to the bathroom and turned the shower on cold. After stripping, he got all the way in and had the coldest shower of his life which – if he was being honest with himself – felt like he was being pelted with ice, but - if he was also being honest with himself – he felt much more awake afterwards.

He threw on a fresh pair of shorts and made his way back to the couch and looked at his phone again. Nope. He wasn’t hallucinating. Plain as day, black on white - the message was still there.

From Rogers.

He had opened the message and it had sat there marked as “read” for Rogers to see for a whole hour (if the guy paid attention to that sort of thing). As much as Bucky had denied things to Natasha he knew what he wanted, but he was afraid that it would actually happen. That kind of shit only happens in day dreams when you’re sitting at the back of the classroom, wondering what it would be like to have a nice guy like Rogers sitting across from you with a meal on the table asking about your favorite movies instead of at the front of the classroom talking about what state England was in the Middle Ages. Maybe if he played stupid nothing would happen. 

But what if he went along with it and something did?

His face burned again at the thought. He closed his eyes and roughly rubbed his hands over his face, hoping the scratching of stubble from his unshaven face would wake his nerves up again. He looked back down at the message:

_“I hope this doesn’t come off as weird, my asking you this. Would you like to meet outside of class and talk over coffee? I have some books I think you’d like and my office isn’t that comfortable for meeting. If not, just let me know and I can bring them to class for you. Have a good weekend,  
Steve”_

A dozen thoughts ran through Bucky’s head, but some of the first were – who writes Facebook messages like letters? And, he fucking signed it _Steve_. Not Dr. Rogers. Not Professor. Just his name. Just Steve.

He’d stared at the damned message until he had it memorized. The words were etched on the back of his eyelids and it was all he could picture in the shower. _Have a good weekend, Steve_. There, sitting on the couch in his underwear, head still dripping from his shower, he made a decision. _Fuck it,_ he thought, _I really have nothing to lose._

Bucky typed back a reply. Then deleted it. Then typed two more before finally sending it, throwing his phone to the other side of the couch and burying his face in a pillow and let out groan. He was so fucked. He was twenty one years old, had a crush on his fucking thirty year old teacher, and was actually going to do something about it.

~x~

Bucky didn’t say a word to Natasha about meeting with Professor Rogers, or the original message received. Naturally intuitive, if she picked up on anything, she didn’t let on. This made Bucky grateful but at the same time very pissed because, if he followed the head in his pants and not the head on his shoulders, he was going to owe her so much money.

When he finally replied, Bucky agreed to meet Professor Rogers off campus at a small café that had _the best_ all day breakfast sandwiches the next Friday afternoon. Bucky had an excuse planned to give Natasha to avoid hanging out, but she’d claimed she was sick and resigned to go home and rest – insisting that it might be contagious - even though she looked perfectly fine.

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he found himself rushing back to his apartment to change into a less-holey pair of jeans and a fresh t-shirt. The weather was turning cold, but his winter jacket was too bulky. After a moment of contemplation he threw on his worn out leather jacket and headed down to the café.

They’d agreed on 3 o’clock but Bucky - being the pile of nerves that he had suddenly become - arrived fifteen minutes early, so he went ahead and got a cup of coffee, finally settling down in a window seat that faced the door. He couldn’t help it, he kept checking his phone for the time, a message, anything. The coffee was burning his tongue. He kept taking nervous sips anyways. It was five after. He blew on his coffee, it started to cool down; he took more nervous sips. Ten after. Patrons wafted in and out of the café but none of them were who he was expecting.

His coffee was now room temperature and so he drank most of it before it was too cold for his taste. He tried not to look around more than necessary and settled on staring out the window watching the leaves on the tree just outside shake in the wind. He tried to just sit there and look like some thoughtful dweeb contemplating life, the universe, and everything else. He was also just beginning to wish he had brought a book (or maybe not have showed up at all) when a fast moving figure passed by the window and rushed into the café not long after making Bucky turn his head once more. A dressed down Professor Rogers had just stepped in, completely out of breath with a backpack thrown across his shoulders – the windblown look suited him well. _So does the panting_ Bucky added silently to himself. Rogers frowned and looked around, face cracking into a wide smile when his eyes landed on Bucky in the corner.

Bucky raised his cup as Rogers made his way over and took off his backpack, sitting it down on the seat in front of the other. “Damn, sorry I’m late.” He frowned looking at Bucky’s mug, “I was going to get your drink. Can I get you another?”

Bucky shook his head and smiled, “I’m good, thanks though.”

“Alright… well I’m going to go get one, too. Be right back.” He left the backpack in the seat and Bucky watched him retreat. Rogers was usually very professionally dressed; he stuck to brown pants as a staple, and rotated (not that Bucky paid attention, at all) between mixtures of sweaters, button ups, blue ties (always blue) and suspenders. He’d never seen Rogers on a Casual Friday though. He only had one class early in the morning and he and Natasha either made plans or didn’t for the rest of the day and he just went home. Casual Friday apparently meant dark, not-so-loose-fitting jeans and a blue striped button up. Sandy brown hair still immaculately combed back, beard still neatly trimmed – that didn’t change, anyways.

Bucky honestly felt more self conscious; he had a few nice clothes reserved for funerals and the weddings of friends, but he didn’t wear them on any other occasion. He wished he had worn a different jacket, but was thankful he didn’t throw on the flannel he usually wore to class that was patched all over with band logos and DIY slogans. He wished a lot of other things about his appearance at the moment, but he told himself that really, it didn’t matter. He probably could have at least shaved…

Rogers quickly came back with a steaming cup to find his student looking out the window, avoiding his gaze. He cleared his throat and moved the backpack out of the way, taking his seat. “It’s good to know that I’m not the only one who enjoys this place. I was kind of glad that you picked it actually.”

Bucky turned back to him. With Rogers’ soft expression he figured it was safe to reply, “I usually only come here with Nat… or on dates.” Judging his teacher’s reaction, he took a sip of his coffee, eyeing him over the cup. Maybe that was too much fuel to the fire. “But books are now a good reason too, I suppose.”

The teacher was momentarily stunned by the first remark but it passed quickly. He lowered his head and chuckled, reaching down for the bag, “Alright, alright. You may have read some of these already. I really have no clue what you’ve read besides for class and well…” He pulled out four paperbacks and spread them out on the table. “Vonnegut and Burgess.”

Bucky put his cup down and spread the books further, picking up one at random and immediately approving. “Slaughterhouse Five. Classic.”

“You’ve read it?”

Bucky nodded and moved to the next one, shrugging, “Books about war are read a lot in the army. _The Wanting Seed_ though? I know Burgess wrote _A Clockwork Orange_ but I haven’t read anything else, and I can’t honestly say I know anyone that has. Or at least that brags about it.”

Professor Rogers grinned, “Well, now you do.” He took a quick sip from his cup and hesitated before saying, “I hope you’ll forgive me for being a Facebook stalker but from what other things you’re into I figured these would give you something new. You seem bored in class. These should give you some interesting things to think about outside of class at least.”

“Professor –” 

“Steve.” He interrupted, “Please. Outside of class, call me Steve.”

“Okay… Steve.” He was grateful that his long hair covered his ears because of course he’d started _blushing_ , “Why are you doing this?”

Steve’s hands tightened momentarily around his mug, but Bucky didn’t see it because he was too busy paying attention to his teacher’s blue stare.

“What do you mean?”

“I just mean the books. Why me?”

Steve leaned forward against the table and placed his hand on the two middle books, “Buck, words are the gateway to all things around us, seen and unseen. Everyone needs an escape every now and then. Like I said, you look worn out. You need to read something besides textbooks.”

“Does this mean I’m excused from reading for class now?” Bucky cocked a grin and eyed his teacher.

Steve’s eyes were bright, “Absolutely not.”

They sat and talked for a while longer. No longer having a hot cup to cradle, Bucky idly flipped between the pages of the books giving his hands something to do. Sometimes it was hard meeting his teacher’s gaze – those fucking blue eyes, fucking ocean blue eyes so deep he could get lost in them – so he instead watched his teachers slim, wedding-ring-less fingers which only led to other thoughts. There was no telling what was going on in the older man’s head. All Bucky knew was the attention was all on him. 

“Listen,” Steve said after a while, “Do you have anything to do this afternoon?”

“Other than start reading this pile of books? No, not really.” The corner of his mouth lifted as he asked, “Why?”

“No reason. There’s just a lake nearby that has the fucking cutest baby turtles that sunbathe in the afternoons. They tend to hide around people but I have become a master at making them come out of their hiding places.” Steve eyed him carefully, “Only if you’re interested, of course.”

Bucky didn’t miss the double meaning of his teacher’s words. Yes, there may be real turtles, but Steve was also calling him a turtle, too. He thought of Natasha and their bet, wondering if this was technically constituting a “date.” He also thought of two days earlier when he’d decided to see where this led, if it led anywhere. Sometimes he hated himself for being a gambling man, “Sure,” he said grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair, “Lets go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Facts:  
> ~The books mentioned are obviously real, but I just wanted to say that almost all of Anthony Burgess's novels are fabulous. A Clockwork Orange was the first that I'd read but it only made me wonder what his other novels were like and I found the Wanting Seed to also be my favorite.  
> ~I haven't decided what Bucky's major should be  
> ~Inspo pics for Professor Rogers and Punk!Bucky can be found [here](https://www.google.com/search?q=teacher+chris+evans&client=tablet-android-samsung&prmd=niv&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiCpPHluaPWAhVD8CYKHUv7DD4Q_AUIEigC#imgrc=rLb0no2RvgVqvM:) and [ here](https://www.google.com/search?q=long+haired+bucky+barnes&client=tablet-android-samsung&prmd=isvn&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjXiMbBuaPWAhWILSYKHeO5C88Q_AUIESgB&biw=1280&bih=800#imgrc=Y14paF979RrhVM:) if the links don't work please let me know. Making links on my tablet is difficult sometimes.
> 
> Other:  
> ~I'm using a prompt list for most chapters/drabbles. This one is "Shy"
> 
> Thanks for reading, xx - C


	3. Of Movies and Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a thing for older men. Is anyone surprised?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so I feel like I need to say this again: all these chapters are related and in chronological order, but many details are missing because I'm writing these as like... snapshots? of Bucky and Steve's relationship. Like. The important parts that maybe when Bucky thinks of the relationship years from now he remembers as being the Best Stuff. Thank you for reading, commenting and kudosing - xx- C
> 
> PS: I have been editing on my own and sometimes don't catch everything on the first few reads. If anyone wants to help me edit I would be grateful, just let me know.

“Vincent Price is a dreamboat.”

“You can’t be serious.” The other scoffed, “The guy has looked over fifty almost all of his life.”

It was Saturday night. Two weeks after having coffee together, Bucky sat on his teacher’s couch – _Steve’s_ couch, off campus he insisted to be called Steve – where they sat on separate cushions and watched _The Fall of the House of Usher_ on the large TV. Steve’s apartment was much larger than Bucky’s and had much nicer furniture; he’d come to the conclusion that Steve’s place was arranged to be comfortable, clearly because he had and planned to live in this space for a while. Bucky’s was arranged to be useful, only having the necessities to get by until after college. 

After their first meeting outside class, Steve had messaged Bucky again (this time actually using his phone number, which was smoothly asked for “Y’know, so you don’t have to wait until class if you want to talk about one of those books I loaned you.”) and asked if the other had wanted to come over for dinner. Bucky’s bluntness didn’t even phase the teacher; when Bucky coyly asked, “Have these been dates?” the other only responded, “Do you want them to be?”

It was then that it was completely obvious to Bucky that, yes, he’d fallen right into it. He’d known from the beginning. The bait was shy and it could have been taken or rejected because it didn’t have a pressured hand. Steve wasn’t forcing himself on the younger man, he was just giving him a veiled option which Bucky saw right through and had decided to take.

He didn’t know how long this would last, or what this even was. Dates? He guessed. Steve had said so anyways. Boyfriends? Maybe not. Just good company? Well. He wasn’t going to worry about titles. Not when he had to keep a straight face in class when Steve called him Mr. Barnes only to know that a few days from then he’d be over at the older man’s apartment and cooking dinner with the guy, _again_.

And now Bucky was sitting on his teacher’s couch – at his teacher’s apartment – watching classic movies and arguing with him.

“Fuck. Yes.”

“Explain.”

“Are you really going to make me recite verbal essays outside of class?” The younger complained, “It’s the weekend.”

“Technically, we agreed I’m not your teacher off campus.” Steve was taking up one half of the couch, legs out in front of him and propped up on the coffee table, left arm stretched on the couch back towards Bucky. “And yes, always having a reason for statements as adamant as ‘Vincent Price is a dreamboat’ when he’s obviously a fossil, is good practice. Explain.” With the last point, he waved Bucky forward like motioning a student to the front of the class.

Bucky uncrossed his legs and grabbed the remote, pausing the movie on still of Price’s face and stood up, giving a big, exaggerated sigh.

“Indulge me, if you will.” He stood up by the TV as if he were giving a presentation, making a show of exaggerating, and Steve grinned. Bucky, in his holey jeans and baggy red and black Freddy Krueger sweater, used the remote as a pointer and although he tried to look tough he looked to Steve, quite frankly, adorable. “Vincent Price, the king of classic thrills – aside from Bela Lugosi and Lon Chaney – has the presence of a gentleman. In almost every role, he is a man of poise and stature. He is a man of power. Of cunning. He is a man who knows what he wants and – even it if it is not the most just or reasonable thing _gets it_. He is a wolf who stalks his prey, and by the end of the night claims it.”

The younger man paced the floor and looked away from his teacher whom he could see beaming at him, “I think it could go without saying that he’s always dressed like a gentleman, too. Very well groomed,” Bucky gave Steve a side eye, “not unlike some other people I know.”

“Is that all?” Steve bit his thumb to hide his smile but it shone anyways through his eyes.

Bucky paused and turned back to the screen and hit play, proceeding to toss the remote back at Steve where it landed on his lap, “No, you can’t forget his voice. His voice is iconic. It’s haunting.” He plopped back on the couch and said seriously, “It’s a voice I would sell my arm to fuck.”

Steve snorted, “That’s good to know. I’d like to see you try to fuck a voice though.”

Bucky side eyed Steve again. Steve had his eyes on the TV and was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. They had been throwing comments around like this for days, every time they hung out, every time they stayed up talking on the phone. Smartass comments. Smartass flirting.

“That could easily be arranged.” Bucky retorted and settled back in to his side of the couch, this time a little bit closer to the middle. 

They sat like that for a while, silently watching scenes pass by on the screen. Not many words passing between them except comments here and there on scenery or bits of foreshadowing. Steve shifted and his hand that was on the back of the couch behind Bucky’s neck lightly brushed the hair at his nape. If he hadn’t already been hyper aware of every movement that was taking place on the couch, Bucky could have told himself he was imagining the fingers at his neck.

He had walked close to Steve when they’d been out at the lake, although Bucky took caution to keep his hands in his coat pockets. They stood close to each other when Bucky came over to Steve’s apartment and shed his heavy jacket and kicked off his boots at the front door. They had been close in proximity, close enough to feel each other’s presence without looking, but always stood just enough away from each other not to touch. Bucky knew that he was stepping on a heated edge – of fucking course he was – this was the guy who got paid to stand in front of a classroom to talk about books two days a week. This was the guy who he could get fired. 

But this was also the guy who had been blatantly flirting with him and eye-fucking him for weeks. The guy who made Bucky’s face turn red every time a sly comment was made and lips were bitten to hide a smile. The guy who neither pushed Bucky to do anything, nor asked for anything in return but to hang out again.

He ran a careful steel hand through his long hair and dropped his hand to rub his fingers against those on his neck. Stark Co. didn’t mess around when making prosthetics; the heat of Steve’s hand rushed through Bucky’s fingers and he almost flinched away when Steve shifted a little bit closer and brought his arm around the his shoulder. Bucky held onto Steve’s hand and leaned against the other’s frame, cuddling against him, and trying to keep his eyes on the movie.

Their hands circled around each other, intertwining and letting go. Bucky felt fucking eighteen again. Which, granted, wasn’t too long ago, but he felt new and unbroken. He felt like this was a new thing to him – laying against someone else, being close enough to smell their shampoo (was that apples? What a goober.) He held onto Steve’s hand and brought it close to his face, pretending to inspect his hand, and then started laying butterfly kisses on his palm. Finger pads. Each. Individual. Finger. Humming, he brought Steve’s thumb to his lips and licked it. _Bold move_ he told himself, _You sure you’re ready for that?_

Steve’s hand flinched. He whispered, and even though the movie was playing loudly, the voice was louder in Bucky’s ear, “You may want to think twice about doing that.”

The younger man’s face heated at the insinuation and he smiled to himself, pressing his head back into the other’s shoulder. He could feel the cool blue eyes watching him, waiting. He felt warm. He felt safe. 

He felt like it was about damn time.

He placed more kisses up the side of the other’s thumb and Bucky felt Steve tense behind him as he smoothed the other’s thumb tip across his lip to slowly lick it and insert it in his mouth. His tongue ran along the underside of the other’s thumb and he gave it a light suck before repeating. Heart pounding, he innocently looked behind him, thumb falling out of his mouth and spit running a line across his cheek and met the other’s eyes.

He was met with a deep, heated kiss.


	4. Of Concerts and Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve surprises Bucky with a date to a concert. Bucky gets a little too excited about it.

Bucky turned the steaming shower off and peeked his head around the curtain, puzzled. He was sure he’d heard something, but he supposed he just imagined it. Starting to towel off, his phone ringer blasted off on the counter of the bathroom sink. _Steve_.

“Yes?” He answered.

“I’ve been knocking for three minutes, let me in?”

“Shit! Hold on.”

He hung up and quickly tucked the towel around his waist. Cracking open the front door, he peeked around to make sure Steve really was outside, then stood behind the door to let him in. Steve had been to Bucky’s apartment before, but only knew which one it was from the outside because he’d always waited for Bucky to get in before driving off after they’d hung out at his place. He’d never been inside.

“Sorry for not calling,” Steve said entering the one-room apartment and trailed off, blatantly eyeing Bucky’s chest, “I didn’t…”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and waited, “Yes?”

“Well, didn’t realize you may be showering but also didn’t know you had a tattoo?” he said, eyes flashing to Buck’s face and back down.

Confusion flashed across Bucky’s face and then he followed Steve’s eyes down to his chest to the inked, hilted half of a broken sword down the middle of his sternum. In an old school style the wraparound banner read _WE ARE ALL WE HAVE_. If he were being honest with himself, since he wasn’t _completely_ covered in ink, he often forgot he had the few, even if they were large.

“Oh, yeah. Well, it’s tattoos, plural.” He turned around to show the one down his spine: the other half of the sword with a banner in the same style that read _HONOR IS ALL WE KNOW_. “I got them a few years ago.”

“Army days?” Steve asked.

“Something like that.” Bucky turned to the corner with his plastic dresser and began to pull on clothes around his towel. “Maybe I’ll tell you the stories sometime,” he turned and winked. He didn’t stay facing Steve to see his stupid grin, but finished getting dressed. Steve gave him the privacy and looked around at Bucky’s bookshelves.

“So, why the surprise visit?” Bucky dug around his drawers for a shirt and some socks. 

He didn’t want to admit he was a little miffed at the company; he’d been to Steve’s apartment and his own was dismal in comparison. He wasn’t necessarily embarrassed, but he enjoyed Steve’s place better. His own apartment was one room with an attached bathroom. The kitchen was a part of the main area and there was only one closet where he kept his vacuum and used the top shelf as a pantry. He had a small coffee table in front of his futon which he moved at the end of the night so he could pull out his bed – if he felt up to it – with blankets folded at the end. The table was littered with school papers, the books Steve had given him, and his laptop. On the floor, his textbooks were scattered in one corner and on another wall he had a small bookshelf packed with novels; the books that didn’t fit on the shelves were stacked on top and on the floor at either side of the shelves. It was okay but it was still nothing like Steve’s apartment that had a full kitchen, private bedroom and room for a big couch and decent TV.

“Well,” he started, thumbing through a book that was on the coffee table, “I thought I’d surprise you and take you somewhere tonight.”

“My handsome date has come to take me to dinner?” Bucky put a hand to his chest and pretended to gush.

He hummed and looked up smiling, “We can stop and eat, but no, that wasn’t the whole plan.”

“So… where then?”

~x~

When they walked up to the venue, the first band had already started – the bass could be heard from the front sidewalk – and there was a line of latecomers waiting to get in. Bucky eyed the poster at the door – Steve wouldn’t tell him where they were going, only to dress normal (which, he knew that for Bucky would be perfect in this situation) – the flyer read “Punk Rock Showcase!” and had three local bands listed below in bold.

Bucky turned to the other who was eyeing him with curiosity, “You really know how to steal a guy’s heart, huh?”

Steve grinned as they moved to the front door where he produced two tickets that he’d previously gotten and they entered.

“You want a drink?” Steve shouted into Bucky’s ear; once they’d gotten past the front entrance, they were hit with a wall of sound. It took a moment to get used to, but Bucky could feel the bass beats reverberating up his legs and into his chest. It’d been a while since he’d been to a show. It’d been a _long_ time since he’d found himself thrashing to the music in a mosh pit and he found himself eyeing the crowd before his attention was drawn back to his date.

“I kinda want to get in there,” Bucky shouted back, tossing a thumb in the direction of the pulsing bodies.

“I’ll be over there,” Steve pointed to the area where the sound and light booth met the floor, “Come find me!” And with that, he pushed Bucky forward, laughing, permission to go have fun without him.

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He moved forward through the edge of the crowd, jumping along to the music – a song he’d never even heard before, but was so loud and familiar he could feel it in his bones regardless – until he came to the edge of the mosh pit. He stood there, watching twenty or so people run around in circles, bouncing off of each other, falling to the floor and being pulled up again by those on the outside. A girl who looked not much younger than Bucky slipped and fell on some beer in front of him and he quickly pulled her up before she got stepped on or someone else tripped over her. He eyed the floor and was glad he’d worn his boots that still had tread on them – that wasn’t the only puddle in the circle – but Bucky jumped in regardless right after the girl he’d helped thanked him and plowed on before him.

It had been a while since he’d been in a mosh pit. He liked to joke to friends – especially those who made fun of punk music – that mosh pits were the only time he felt comfortable hitting people. Of course, he didn’t add, you don’t _actually_ hit people in the pit – only when they’re being dicks – you just shove and release energy. He loved it, because he knew – especially at punk shows – that everyone had each other’s backs. Like with the girl that had fallen – if some one fell, you picked them up, you got them out of the way to protect them and everyone around them. You take care of each other. You have fun, but you make sure no one _actually_ gets hurt. He loved the community. He loved feeling like a family with a hundred people he didn’t even fucking know.

The song ended and the band on stage launched right into another. This time, instead of a fast punk beat it had a steady ska rhythm and he stood on the edge and skanked a little in place while watching those in the circle keep moving at a somewhat slower pace. The thrashing circle transformed into a counter clockwise rotation of skankers and dancers – young men and women spinning and having a good time. He joined the circle again when someone pulled him in and he followed.

When the first band’s set ended, Bucky made his way through the crowd back to the wall where Steve had said to find him. Pulling his flannel off and tying it around his waist, Bucky ran his right hand through his now sweaty hair and grinned at Steve who was still comfortably un-saturated.

The bearded man smiled at his companion and lifted his beer, “Want some anyways?”

Bucky reached his hand out for the cup and took a swallow as the other asked, “I couldn’t see you but you look like you’re having fun at least.”

Bucky handed the cup back and grinned, catching his breath, “Understatement.”

“I want you with me for the last set. The lead singer of the band is a teacher at the local high school and he’s a friend of mine.”

“Who knew so many educated people were rebels?” Bucky quipped, “But really, is he?”

“He teaches history, too.” Steve smiled.

“Teaching young minds to rebel through learning about our past. That’s what Iike to hear.”

Bucky leaned his back against the wall next to Steve and observed the crowd, picking out the people that seemed to have come together and those that didn’t. What a fucking pair the two of them made. Steve’s idea of concert clothing were black jeans and a grey t-shirt; other than that, the motherfucker still looked perfect. Bucky, looked pretty much the same as usual with his loose fitting blue jeans and shirt that had seen better days. Anyone looking at the pair of _them_ wouldn’t have thought they’d shown up together.

Bucky’s breathing finally caught up with him and he turned to Steve who offered him the last bit of the beer and he took it, “You should join _me_ for this next band, since _I’m_ going to sit out the crowd for the last one.” Bucky took the last swig and raised his eyebrows over the cup conspiritavely, “Just saying.”

Steve’s eyes shone and he raised his own brow, “I think you have ulterior motives.”

Bucky shrugged and he crushed the cup tossing it in the nearby trashcan, “And?” He didn’t say anything else, but the look he gave the other man was telling. It said, _And, I would get in your pants if you’d let me._

Steve’s shoulders moved up and down in a chuckle and when he met Bucky’s eyes they were dark. He quickly moved and Bucky’s back was against the wall, Steve’s hands on either side of his head, “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what he was feeling – something along the lines of a rush of excitement – but the feeling was quickly drowned as the other moved away, very aware that they were in public. Bucky felt his face heat up more, a little embarrassed that he’d put the both of them in that situation, but not regretting what had happened.

When the next band – an all female group this time – finished setting up, Bucky grabbed Steve by the hand and dragged him into the crowd. This band (who proclaimed themselves to be The Zombie Slayers) let off track after fast track – the pit was pulsing. The lead singer had a Courtney Love wail and screamed most of the lyrics; Bucky couldn’t understand most of the words, but he thought it had to partially do with the fact that she also was drunk. And that wasn’t a lie – between songs, she’d take a few quick gulps out of the wine bottle she’d brought on stage, and then the band would jump into another song – she was wobbly, and her words were slurring. There was no way wine was the only thing she’d had to drink tonight.

Steve mostly stood on the edge of the crowd helping up those that had fallen and pushing back into the circle those who’d bounced against him, only jumping in the two times that Bucky had pulled him in, going a few times around the circle and then faded into the edge again. A few songs later Steve pulled Bucky out of the circle and, when the younger man met him with a confused look on his face, he pointed to the stage.

Bucky hadn’t been paying attention to the stage for a few songs. For the most part, he’d been paying attention to his own feet and the people bumping against him trying to keep aware of his surroundings. The singer on stage had finished her bottle and had smashed it against the rise that held the drum set; she was still singing, and in a move Sid Vicious would have been proud of she lifted her shirt and sliced the skin of her stomach with the broken bottle, deep enough to where blood immediately started sliding down her belly. The band played on for another verse before the stage managers realized what had happened and the sound cut off. Someone walked out and pointed to the singer and the broken bottle and her bloody stomach and pointed off stage signaling that the singer’s move had automatically ended their set. The bassist threw up her hands yelled something at the singer and the others moved to the back to get towels to clean up the mess of broken glass and blood.

“Fuck,” Bucky turned to Steve, “You know how to follow foreshadowing, don’t you?”

“You never know what’ll happen at a show.” He put his own hand in Bucky’s and started leading him through the crowd, “C’mon, lets get another drink.”

When the last set started, Bucky and Steve were finishing off another shared beer and leaning against the same sound wall as before. They’d talked a little about other bands they liked and Bucky threw the conversation back to Steve’s remark before class a few weeks ago about the ‘Soundtrack of the Revolution’ and Steve barked a laugh. 

Bucky’s heart melted a little; Steve’s eyes closed when he laughed and as the house lights turned down, and not even that could bring a shadow over his face. Bucky was shamelessly staring. The guy was fucking _beautiful_ and Bucky decided right then by the end of this night he was going to jump and it didn’t matter how far he fell, he’d do anything to keep Steve smiling. He was so fucking taken, hook, line and sinker, and he didn’t even know how far the other man wanted to go or how serious he was. All he knew was, at the moment, he’d do anything for more moments like this.

Steve caught Bucky staring and his eyes roamed over the others face before he looked up to the stage where the band was taking their places. Bucky turned and settled again against the wall; the moment hadn’t ended, it had only paused.

The band introduced themselves with a lot of cheering by the crowd – some of them peers and a few of them students by the sound of it – and they kicked off the set with a handful of original songs. Bucky and Steve stayed away from the crowd this time and, while Bucky was a little bummed he wasn’t joining in on the excitement, he was content with staying beside Steve. In the shadows against the wall, away from the majority of the crowd, Steve dropped all pretenses of trying to not be seen even vaguely intimate with Bucky and threw an arm around the younger man’s shoulders, drawing him close and placing a quick kiss on the side of his temple. His arm didn’t release from the other’s shoulder. 

Bucky melted into Steve’s side and was grateful for the contact. He’d been embarrassed about even considering it earlier; they were in public and if any of his fellow students saw them together making contact like this, it could be trouble for Steve. But Steve made the move. Buck looked up to the other who was smiling and watching his friend’s band; when he noticed the younger man looking at him, he only pulled him closer.

His heart swelled with emotion. 

_Fuck._

The searching blue and red lights that roved over the crowd hit Steve’s face and illuminated him. Bucky was aware that this feeling was just the beer talking. He also knew that it was his former loneliness talking, too; he hadn’t had a date since his Army days and the universe knew his body was lonely. But he also knew that he would be a dumbass to not trust his feelings – the fucking nervous butterflies, the fucking _if you don’t do something now I’m going to explode from anticipation_ feelings; he’d done enough hiding the fucking heart on his sleeve. It was time to fucking _jump_.

Steve’s friend made a short monologue on stage geared towards the attending high schoolers about recognizing peer violence and reporting it, and then said, “If you’ve got a problem, I want you to deal with it right now. Jump in the pit!” And launched into a cover of “Astro Zombies.”

Steve turned to Bucky and started singing the words, swinging his head along to the beat. Bucky recognized it; this was Steve having fun and letting loose. Prim and proper Steve, taking full advantage of his night on the town and actually having _fun_. It made him smile like a damn loon. Bucky started to sing along to the Misfit’s cover with Steve, exaggerating the drawn out parts of the verses like Danzig’s original vocals and just like Steve’s friend was doing on stage, heads bobbing in sync with the bass drum line.

At that moment, Bucky thought that saying he was having a good time would have been an understatement. He couldn’t remember a time he’d had more fun at a show; in the past he’d either been completely alone, or stayed mostly out of the crowd to stay with whoever he’d arrived with because they didn’t want to be alone. But this. _This._ Looking at Steve, the swelling in his chest was starting to scream _Could this moment get any better?_ was moving elsewhere to his body and screaming _A fuck would be_ really _nice right now._

Bucky’s impulse control was generally good, but in this mood, the swing vote won out.

When the song was over, Bucky held Steve by the arm and met his gaze dead on. Steve’s eyes questioned him, but he didn’t stop smiling, not even when Bucky leaned over to his ear and said firmly, “I wanna take you right fucking now.”

Steve eyes didn’t leave Bucky’s, but they darkened and he bit his lip, “Let’s go back to my place.”

“No,” he said, grabbing the older man’s wrist, dragging him away from the wall and towards the bathroom, “ _Now_.”

Steve didn’t argue. He didn’t really even look around, didn’t dig his heels in, but eagerly followed the other to the bathroom where Bucky pulled him into a stall, locked the door and turned, only to be met with a kiss full of teeth and fervor. “Y’know,” Steve said in between kisses, hands firmly gripping Bucky’s sides, “I would have thought it would be me doing this to you instead. You never fail to surprise me.”

“Shut up,” Bucky said dropping to his knees and tugging on the other’s belt, “You can do what you want later.”

He tugged the other’s jeans down to his knees and pushed his shirt out of the way. The other man was ready to go and Bucky didn’t waste any time, diving right in with his mouth wide open. Steve’s head hit the stall wall and he trust his hips forward as Bucky’s head bobbed up and down, swiftly stroking as he licked. He threaded a hand through Bucky’s hair and restrained himself from tugging, biting his lip and pressing his head into the stall wall – as if he could push it through to the other side - fighting the urge to fuck the man’s throat raw.

Bucky pulled back and licked a long strip up Steve’s dick and said quickly before diving back down, “Don’t be gentle with me.”

Steve roughly pulled the hair on Bucky’s head and Bucky groaned, vibrations rattling up through the other. Bucky took that as his green light to take advantage of the situation. He gripped the other’s leg tight with his left arm, cool metal digging into Steve’s skin. The other hand was a mess of fluids as his hand stayed at the base and he went deep. The hand in his hair tugged harder as the owner tensed for a moment and his head set a final _thunk_ onto the stall wall.

Bucky looked up at Steve - his long, sweaty hair hung in strings around his face, his face was flushed, his lips were red and wet. He licked his lips and Steve reached out a hand and pulled him up, gentle, and brought him into a messy kiss.

“You’re coming home with me tonight.” 

It wasn’t a question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Facts: 
> 
> -Bucky’s tattoos are from the Casualties song [We Are All We Have](https://youtu.be/Pm2afuGAS1U) and the Rancid song [Honor Is All We Know](https://youtu.be/awcX5D5mjFQ). They’ll be talked about more in the next chapter.
> 
> \- A few years ago, I really did go to a local punk showcase where the only female band DID get cut off because the singer was drunk and she slashed her stomach open with a wine bottle. To this day it’s the most punk rock thing I’ve ever seen on stage and as much as I hate Sid Vicious I fuckin love that chick for a move that he’d be proud of.
> 
> -At that same concert, the last band was made up of teachers and it cracked me the fuck up but they actually had great music.
> 
> -I fuckin love mosh pits for the same reasons Bucky does
> 
> -On that note, not all mosh pits are tame like this. Depending on the band obviously the pits can vary; the first pit I was ever in was at a metal show and I fell, got kicked in the head before someone pulled me out and had a knot the size of a plum for a week. It’s really the only time I’ve ever been injured. If you’ve never been in a pit before here is a good video for how to not be an asshole: [Rules of the Mosh Pit](https://youtu.be/CKeytOj7Epw)
> 
> Other:
> 
> -Tbh, I’m not comfortable writing explicit content between m/m characters when I’m not one myself, so the end scene is about as explicit as it’s going to get. Almost everyone can relate to a blowjob. I’m going to focus mostly on the emotion because fuck man if I can make you feel what Bucky is feeling you can imagine the rest. (And it means I’m actually doing a good job writing.) I’ve still got a lot I want to tell with this, stick around if you want to see where it goes still <3 Punk!Bucky is my love.


	5. Of Sad Days and Bad Grades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky remembers past relationships and it throws him for a loop. Also, something about studying and bad grades. Steve reads poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No important notes this time except to say THANK YOU EVERYONE FOR READING! <3 I know how much of a trip it can be to take a chance on reading an "In-Progress" fic, but I really do appreciate everyone who has read, regardless of kudos or comments (but especially to those who do anyways!). Seeing those notes in my email and my inbox when I log on give me the motivation to get this story out of my system.
> 
> I'm not sure how much longer this story will be; I've got some stuff I want Bucky to work through first, so we've got quite a few chapters to go before the end. I hope you stick along with me to see where it goes. xo - C

When Bucky thought about his past relationships, his memories zeroed in on two emotions: lust and loneliness. He had been – he realized now, after having listened to every guy and their brother in the Army talk about their own sex lives – a late bloomer. He had relationships throughout high school, dated a girl or two, dated a guy or two, but never got farther than making out with them until after he’d graduated. His first _real_ relationship was with the first guy who had ever made a serious move on him. First guy that had ever made him feel _special_ and, thinking back, Bucky kicked himself for thinking so much with his fucking dick.

Needless to say, the time they spent together, they fucked like rabbits.

It didn’t last long. When the other had went off to college, they’d slowly started drifting apart and after four months of being away, Bucky’s boyfriend was calling it quits over the phone. Didn’t even have the decency to say it to his face. Always one for dramatics, Bucky joined the Army soon after not knowing what to do next. He’d thought about it during his senior year, but the timing now seemed right. He _did_ eventually want to go to college, but he didn’t know what he wanted to study and he sure as hell didn’t want to waste all that time or money on a degree he wasn’t sure about yet. From eighteen to twenty he served and it was a time of structure and one bad decision after another.

Yet, he’d made friends. Friends from all over the continent who introduced him to different foods, books, and best of all, music.

Elijah was not the type of person Bucky would have expected in the military. Although, sometimes when he looked at himself, he wasn’t sure _he_ was the type of person to be in the military either. Elijah was, in short, a hippie of sorts. He didn’t like fighting. All arguments that usually ended up in a boxing match outside the bunkers, if it involved Elijah, he’d hold up his hands and make a speech instead. He didn’t like fighting, so when he was obviously asked “Well, what the fuck are you doing here then?” Elijah replied, “To maybe talk some sense into you fuckers that think fighting _is_ the answer.”

Bucky admired the words coming out of his mouth, among other things.

It wasn’t long before they were sneaking around, stealing moments in closets or behind buildings. President Obama’s repeal of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was fine and all, but neither one of them liked the idea of getting caught.

They found themselves making excuses. Lying to their other friends and being generally dishonest in an atmosphere where honesty could save your life. There were no secrets among your team but, somehow, they managed to keep their relationship under the blanket. Elijah didn’t seem to mind; he’d had to sneak around all his life. Bucky hated it though; it made him feel like a traitor and it made him feel guilty that he couldn’t tell anyone. So, Bucky learned to turn his guilt into other things.

It was Bucky who had introduced Elijah to punk music, the music from his high school years that had gotten him through so much and was trying to keep his head above water now. But, it was Elijah who had found The Casualties and shoved a song in Bucky’s face when they were drunk one night, “They’ve got it fuckin’ _right_ ” Elijah stated bluntly, slamming down his can and stretching his hands out to the room, “We are all we fuckin’ have. At the end of the day, it’s just you and me, and these motherfuckers here who have our backs when we’re out there in the field – ain’t nothin’ else that matters. We gotta keep each other safe. We’re a fuckin’ _family_ , black, white, gay, straight – who the fuck cares. We’re all we got, man. We’re all we got.”

And that became the motto.

Bucky started to believe in it so hard, so _passionately_ , that he got the damn thing tattooed on his chest. His _first_ tattoo (“Go big or go home, right?” he told Elijah later) and his first big regret, to some extent. Could you really believe that your friends are all you have if you can’t tell the rest of them you’re sleeping with another one of them?

When Bucky was laid up in the hospital after the accident, the motto felt like a lie. It was no one’s fault – the grenade was not their own – but those who had survived couldn’t look at Bucky. They knew Bucky and Elijah were close, but they didn’t need to know how close to make each of them feel like they’d torn apart the group. Elijah’s funeral was the day after Bucky was discharged.

Bucky didn’t like being reminded of him; he rarely looked at his chest in the mirror anymore.

~x~

But Bucky tried not to think too much about past relationships, especially not the one that came directly after Elijah – not … no; they were all gone, he was here. And currently, he was in Steve’s bed lying next to him talking. Just talking. And he couldn’t have felt more comfortable.

“So, Honor Is All We Know, huh?”

Bucky was laying on the bed on his stomach in his underwear, arms folded underneath his chin, humming in response as Steve trailed his fingers up and down the ink that was embedded into his skin.

“Why’d you get it?”

Bucky thought for a moment, searching for the right words. He turned his head to look at Steve, “Have you ever just listened to music, I mean, _really_ listened to it when you’re searching for meaning in anything? Some songs to me feel like … like when the right book comes along just when you need the message it’s sending. It’s a beacon.”

“And this one?”

“This one gave me strength. The one on my chest? I got it before the accident. That one?” Bucky said motioning towards his back, “I got after. I couldn’t pick a line. The whole song felt like a call to just pick up, don’t feel sorry for myself, and move on. I mean, I just lost a goddamn arm, I didn’t lose my whole life.” Bucky paused and shrugged, “It felt right.”

Steve nodded. Bucky had told him the gist of the story earlier in relation to the tattoo on his chest. He didn’t push with questions; Steve didn’t know what it was like to lose someone that close but he wasn’t about to open that wound for Bucky.

They lay there in a comfortable silence and after a while Bucky dozed off. Steve covered him up with a blanket and grabbed a book, going to the other room to take notes for the upcoming lecture.

When Bucky woke up an hour later, he was disoriented: these sheets weren’t his, he didn’t own a blanket this soft, and… where was his coffee table? He started to panic, his mind racing and sending him back to a room he was all too familiar with but didn’t want to see. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember. _Steve_ Yes! His mind clicked. Steve. He was here with Steve. 

He sighed in relief, but the sinking feeling in his chest didn’t go away. It’d been a long time since he’d woken up and thought he’d been in _that other_ bed, but he’d deal. He always did, even if it took a while.

He rubbed his eyes and searched the floor for his t-shirt and checked the next few rooms for Steve, who he eventually found on the couch. His legs were propped up on the coffee table and he was reading a book with a pen stuck between his lips. He didn’t immediately notice Bucky but, when he did, he smiled, pen dropping out of his mouth.

“Nice nap, Sleeping Beauty?”

Bucky shrugged and went over to flop down on the couch next to Steve, who frowned at his partner’s non-response, and rested his head on the other’s shoulder. He was groggy from his nap – he’d slept way too long – and his panicked thought upon waking made him feel like shit. Even though he was glad to have not woken up alone in his tiny-ass apartment, he noticed that Steve’s presence didn’t make him immediately happy like it usually did.

Steve nudged Bucky’s head by lifting his shoulder, but Bucky didn’t respond. “What’s wrong, Buck?”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He could feel his throat clenching, feeling like a weight was pressing down on his sternum. He counted to three. His throat unclenched a little bit and he opened his eyes and nuzzled his head and mumbled into Steve’s shirt.

Steve sighed and leaned his head against Bucky’s, “You know I didn’t hear that.”

Bucky lifted his head. “Sometimes I … get like this.”

“Are you sad?”

Bucky shrugged.

“Do you know what brought it on?”

“I dunno, Steve. Could be weird dreams, could be the fucking time of year, could be the relationship talk from earlier?” Bucky shrugged again and sighed, “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters. I care about you, Buck.”

At that, Bucky’s throat tightened again. He’d tried pushing the thoughts out of his head; he took another deep breath and counted to three again. When he spoke again, his voice was strained, “Thanks, Steve. Maybe I’ll tell you … but soon. Not today?”

Steve lifted his arm and wrapped the other in a hug, “I won’t ask you any more. Do you want to watch TV?”

Bucky shook his head no, and Steve responded, lifting his book back up, “Want me to read to you?”

Bucky nodded sadly and Steve laughed, “Okay, poetry it is.”

Steve settled in, sinking deeper into the couch, Bucky’s head still propped up on his shoulder. His voice was soft and kept at a steady rhythm as he began, _“I am—yet what I am none cares or knows; / My friends forsake me like a memory lost: / I am the self-consumer of my woes— / They rise and vanish in oblivious host, / Like shadows in love’s frenzied stifled throes / And yet I am, and live—like vapours tossed…”_

He continued reading, his voice lifting at the right inflections, pausing at the right punctuation. When it ended, he went on to the next, _“Love, meet me in the green glen, / Beside the tall elm-tree, / Where the sweetbriar smells so sweet agen; / There come with me. / Meet me in the green glen…”_

As the older man read, the storm in Bucky’s guts began to disperse. He knew what brought on his sudden down turn; it wasn’t uncommon when he thought about relationships to think about _him_ , but he didn’t expect it to make him feel as bad as he used to – especially not with Steve around. It hadn’t been that long since he’d broken it off with _him_ but the residual pain thinking of that past relationship brought on was something he tried to avoid. However, he knew what it would take to feel better. The thing was, he usually dealt with this pain and feeling of worthlessness alone. It was different – entirely different – to want to feel worthless when you have someone who cares leaning against you.

“Do you know who that was?” Steve nudged Bucky’s head with his shoulder and snapped the younger man out of his brooding reverie.

Bucky lifted his head and side eyed his teacher suspiciously, “This isn’t a trick question is it?”

“Is it?” Steve raised a brow back.

“I don’t remember reading either poem, so no..”

Steve closed the book and tossed it gently to the table, “You’re right,” he smiled, “Unless you read ahead you wouldn’t have known. John Clare, next section. But now you’re making me wonder if you actually _have_ studied for Tuesday’s test at all.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and huffed.

”You _have_ studied for the test, right?” Even though Steve’s tone was gentle, he was serious in his own way. Bucky knew because of the other’s frown and the wrinkles that bricked across his forehead, “I can’t give you special treatment, you know that.”

“I know, Steve, I know.”

“I’m going to grade you like everyone else – I expect you to keep up with the work. You have plenty of time when we’re not together, and really, if we’re spending too much time together…”

“No!” Bucky interjected, throwing up his hands, “I’m studying, damn – I just –“

“I was going to suggest you bring the homework for your other classes, just not mine.” Steve smiled, glad to see his taunting worked.

“Oh,” he untensed, “okay, that’s fine too.”

“But I’m serious about keeping up in class.”

“And what if I don’t?”

Steve only raised his eyebrows, blue eyes shining with mischief, before returning to his notes.

~x~

The next Thursday after the test, Bucky and Natasha entered class together as usual. It had been four weeks since Bucky and Steve’s -- _Mr. Rogers’_ he remembered, _I’m on campus now_ \-- initial date, and it had only been less than a week since the concert and only a few days since he’d stayed at the teacher’s house all weekend. His face burned at the thought as Natasha talked animatedly and Rogers gave them a quick glance before they went to the back and settled into their seats. In class, Rogers continued to not give Bucky any special treatment; if anything, to an outsider, it looked like he was being even more harsh to him. Bucky still hadn’t told Natasha and, if he were being honest, he was starting to run out of excuses for why he couldn’t hang out with her on the weekends. Frankly, he was a little surprised that she hadn’t called him out on his shit yet, but he couldn’t deny that he thought she’d caught the way he’d stilled or ears burned every time Rogers called on him in class – which wasn’t much, but still.

When everyone had entered the class, Rogers stood at the front of the room with their graded test papers and started to pass them out. “I’m kind of shocked with how you guys did – I know this is only the first test of the semester but I really expected better of some of you.” He placed Bucky’s paper down without looking at him and said “Disappointing Barnes, see me after class” Bucky’s heart dropped as Rogers continued to dig through the stack for Natasha’s as he moved down the row. It didn’t escape his attention that there were only a few people he’d stopped to ask to make an appointment with him.

Natasha eyed Bucky’s paper as he flipped it over and harshly whispered, “An 80 and he wants to see you after class? What bullshit.”

Bucky’s face burned. He was a little embarrassed, but mostly pissed. He’d been getting low B’s all his life – that _was_ average after all – and it was obvious who got low grades because Rogers had stopped to talk to them about appointments. Now everyone was going to think he was failing or some shit. He grabbed Natasha’s paper and looked at the grade in red at the top: 91, an A. _Of course_.

“That’s what you get for not studying with me, Barnes.” Natasha chided, elbowing him in the ribs, “Guess we’ll have to pick up the pace this weekend since you’ve been slacking.”  
Bucky nodded and handed her paper back, “Yeah, guess so.”

They turned their attention to the front of the room where Rogers had taken position and was continuing on his spiel about good testing strategies. Bucky didn’t miss where Rogers glanced his way when mentioning taking notes in class and studying the notes at home; he made sure Rogers saw him glare back.

~x~

After class Bucky excused himself from Natasha, “I’m gonna go see why a B is so fucking disappointing, what game is he playing at?” He didn’t even bother to lie to her. His hundred would be owed at the end of the week regardless, it didn’t matter if she found out now anyways.

Natasha smiled and simply said, “Go get him, tiger.”

Bucky knocked on Rogers’ office door just as he was pulling the papers out of his bag. Rogers motioned him in without a smile. It was hard to tell what Roger’s demeanor would be on campus now, he acted friendly, but not as much as he once had in public so Bucky wasn’t surprised that he wasn’t greeted with a smile. Bucky slammed the paper down on Rogers desk, red 80 face up.

“Close the door,” Rogers sighed and after Bucky had closed it – he was careful not to slam the damned thing – he motioned for Bucky to sit down, the desk in between them.  


Bucky sat down and took a deep breath – he wasn’t going to make a scene over a fucking _B_ , he just wanted to know, “Why’d you call me out in class?”

“If you noticed, Barnes, I stopped at everyone who made a low grade and asked them to come see me.” Rogers leaned forward on his desk with his hands clasped together, “I said there would be no special treatment.”

“But a ‘B’ isn’t a _bad_ grade,” Bucky interjected, “I’ve been making them by whole life, that’s _normal_ for me!”

“Maybe so. But _I_ expect better of you.” The sentiment hung in the air unfinished but Bucky knew the ending, _because we’re fucking, because I see you on the weekends, because if you don’t have time to get good grades, maybe this isn’t a good idea._ Then he added, “You said you’d studied.”

Bucky sighed and rubbed his eyes, “I did! I did. I study with Natasha during the week and usually we do an extra on Fridays but—”

“Ah, well … If you don’t improve, maybe you should hold back on extracurricular activities. Use your weekends to study too.”

Bucky challenged his teacher’s suggestion, meeting him dead in the eyes, “I’m sorry, but I enjoy my _extracurriculars_ , Mr. Rogers. Unless you have any other suggestions, I’m still happy with a ‘B’.”

Rogers straightened up and eyed him. “Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

“I’m listening.”

“The incorrect answers, you will find the right ones to. Write the correct answer, where you found it, and a paragraph with context – they were mostly historical context ones you got wrong, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Will it raise my grade?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, he doubted it.

“No.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“The point is, if you _don’t_ do it, you won’t have learned from your mistakes. And we all pay for our mistakes.” Rogers gave Bucky a meaningful look, and suddenly, he got it. This was a power play.

Bucky bit his lip and tried not to smile. He’d had control all weekend, and now the tables have turned. _Fuck. What a way to go about it though._

He dropped his attitude and played innocent, “I’m sorry Mr. Rogers, I’ll do better next time. I think it’s my notes, it’s just so hard to take notes in class with everything going so fast.”

“Do the work,” Rogers smirked, “And you won’t be reprimanded.”

~x~

“So what did Rogers say about your paper?” Natasha asked when Bucky finally joined her in the cafeteria; she’d already eaten half her lunch and was about to pull out her homework if he didn’t show up soon.

“I have a make up assignment.” Bucky shrugged and started eating, not meeting her eyes. He was sure Natasha knew. He wasn’t _that_ good at keeping secrets. It was the end of the month though and their bet was coming to a close – hell, it already had closed, he just had to pay up. He just didn’t know when he should break it to her – he doubted she would make a big deal out of it. _At least not in public_ he thought.

“Are you going to do it?” She broke him out of his thoughts.

“Hell no.” He grinned.

“Okay, well, since you’ll have time this weekend I think we should hang out. There’s a new store downtown that opened _and_ we haven’t been out for coffee in a long time.” She prodded. She missed her friend; weekends were insanely boring without him.

Bucky hummed and internally sighed, making his decision, “I can’t, I’m broke.”

She gave him a questioning look, a _James Barnes, you are never fucking broke because you never spend anything_ kind of look, and then her eyes lit up as Bucky pulled out his wallet and lay a flat $100 bill in front of her. 

“Well,” she said, picking up the hundred and giving him a knowing look, “How about let’s go Friday instead. Coffee’s on me.”

Bucky smiled, glad she wouldn’t make a scene here, “Sounds good.”


	6. Of Indecision and Flashbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's bad day continues. Steve tries to help in any way he can. **Mind the tags for this chapter! Read chapter note.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE mind the tags for this chapter.** I will go ahead and say here that some of the events at the end of this chapter, while totally consensual, may remind some of non-consensual events. Please heed that as the warning. If you want to know what happens but don't want to read this specific chapter because of the warning, don't hesitate to message me and I'll give you a run down. I will also say that because of this, this chapter was extremely hard for me to write because the events that take place are loosely personal. With that being said, the other chapters should come faster than this one did. This chapter isn't as perfect as I wanted it to be, but it is what it is. -- C

Friday afternoon, Natasha and Bucky went out for coffee. Bucky had honestly been looking forward to it because he was beginning to miss hanging out with Natasha outside of studying; they usually parted ways after the library and only occasionally would they hang out at each other’s place, never hanging around in their small apartments for long. He had been a little wary because he was expecting her to bombard him with questions, but she was at least polite enough that she got a cup of overly sweet coffee in his hands before demanding answers.

“Okay, Barnes, spill.”

Bucky decided to play innocent as long as he could, not looking her in the eye. A coy smile worked it’s way onto his lips anyways, “About?”

“Are you really playing dumb?” she asked, incredulously. Her hair whipped her face as she spun to the side to demand, “You’ve gotta give me something here.”

Bucky shrugged and taunted, “You’ve got ask more specific questions.”

“Okay, lets start with _How did this happen?_ and maybe follow up with _Why didn’t you tell me?_ ” She punched his shoulder not-too-softly, “I thought we were friends, Bucky!”

Ouch. “Okay, so you know after he sent me that friend request?” Nat nodded, “He may have messaged me asking if I wanted to meet him for coffee. He had some books he wanted to give me and said if I thought it was weird to meet him out, he could just bring them to class.”

“Smooth. Easy way to cover it up if you didn’t want to meet him.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, _obviously_ I met him for coffee and well…” He shrugged again nonchalantly and took a sip of his coffee, smiling into the lid.

“When did you see him again?” She prodded.

“The next weekend. And the next. And last weekend.” Bucky grinned, “I’m surprised you didn’t call me on my bullshit. When do I ever have plans?”

“Honestly, I had my suspicions but I figured it would be better for you to tell me on your own.” Nat grinned back. She lowered her voice and followed up with, “So, what’s beneath those tight sweaters and khaki pants?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Really?”

“Bucky! You’re in a privileged position and every girl on campus would want to be in your shoes. What is he like?”

“I really don’t want to share those details, Nat.” Bucky could feel his ears heating up, “He’s a really nice guy and I don’t want shit to start flying around about him.”

“But it’s _me_ , you know I’m not going to tell anyone.” She looked at him with those damn puppy eyes and he sighed.

“Promise your lips are sealed?” She nodded. “He’s totally jacked and packed.”

“I knew it!” She squealed, then lowered her voice, “One last question, have you guys done any teacher-student role play? Because you’re in the perfect places to actually ---”

Bucky groaned, “Nat!” 

But the heat from his ears had rapidly spread down to his neck and she immediately had her answer. “Okay, okay,” she grinned, “No more personal questions. But for the love of god Barnes, keep me in the loop and tell me when you have plans with him? I was starting to feel like you didn’t like me anymore.”

“As if,” he nudged her with his hip, they were coming up on the new store Nat wanted to visit and he held the door open for her, “I could actually get rid of you.”

~x~

If Bucky were being honest with himself, the last six days he’d felt like shit and it was getting progressively worse. Well, his body didn’t feel like shit, but his mind did. His day out with Natasha gave him a little break from himself, and he did stay in that high state of mind for a while, but it didn’t last long. They had gone out Friday afternoon and he had plans with Steve for the weekend. His good mood lasted until approximately 11pm Friday night before he started slipping down again.

If he had to describe it to Nat – which he didn’t – he would have said that his brain was in a fog. Back in the Army, the only time he _didn’t_ feel like his brain was full of spider webs was when he was getting shot at – only then were his senses heightened and he felt absolutely aware of everything going on around him. He had gotten better over the past couple of years; for a while he was on depression medication but, after an allergic reaction to the last one, he’d stopped cold turkey. Probably a bad idea, but the last few months he’d been fine. Right now though, his brain felt so sluggish Godzilla could emerge from the fountain on the quad and he wouldn’t bat an eye.

He told himself he just wanted a beer; maybe then he would be able to loosen up and he wouldn’t feel like this, but his gut told him that was the worst thing to want at the moment.

So, on the way to Steve’s apartment on Saturday morning, Bucky found himself standing at the counter at the bakery, wearing the same jeans he’d worn all week and the same shirt he’d worn the past seventy-two hours, staring at a plethora of sugared sweets.

He’d been staring at the counter for a solid five minutes.

The girl working told him whenever he decided to just yell and she’d be right back to get what he wanted.

Bucky wasn’t stoned - _though, maybe that would be a valid excuse_ he thought – but he felt immobile. He wanted something to make him feel better. He wanted a fucking _beer_ but he knew sugar would be better. _Why can’t I have both though?_

In the back of Bucky’s mind, he recognized he’d been in this situation before. Not arguing with himself about cake and beer, but not being able to fucking _think_. No, that wasn’t right. He could think, he could think all fucking day about anything and everything. But he didn’t _feel_ anything about what he was thinking. His ability to _want_ just flew out the fucking window and here he was standing in the middle of the bakery where other customers were starting to stare, goddammit, trying to decide whether he wanted a fucking cheesecake or beer but completely unable to actually make the choice.

It wasn’t even that he didn’t have the money to buy both, he could buy a dozen of each if he damn well pleased, he just couldn’t fucking make himself _do it_.

The girl came back to the front counter and leaned her elbows against the glass that came up to her chest. Bucky eyed her nametag before dropping his eyes back down to the cheesecake display: Elizabeth.

“You’ve been staring at that Oreo cheesecake like it’s killed your dog for eight minutes. You sure you don’t want some of it?” Her voice was gentle but Bucky couldn’t determine whether she was just joking with him or if she were being rude.

“Dogs can’t eat chocolate.”

“I’ll take it that you want a slice?”

“Four.” He started to pull out his wallet and added as an afterthought, “Please.”

~x~

When Bucky arrived at the apartment almost an hour later than he said he would and knocked on the door, Steve had the door open in seconds and pulled Bucky into a hug. Bucky closed his eyes and noted that Steve smelled like dryer sheets and coffee this morning, and he tried to focus on Steve’s voice, “Where the hell have you been? Why didn’t you text me back? I was worried.”

Steve pulled back and looked at Bucky and what he had brought with him – his jeans and shoes were the normal, but it was obvious from the wrinkles in Bucky’s shirt that he’d worn it for more than a day, and he carried nothing with him but the box from the bakery and a bag from the grocery store that looked like it had a six pack in it.

He furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “Where’s your backpack? I thought you were staying tonight.”

“What? Oh. I guess I left it at home,” Bucky pushed the box into Steve’s hands with a ghost of a smile, eager to get the subject off of him and onto the goodies at hand. He was _almost_ excited about the prospect of digging into the cheesecake, “Open it.”

Steve grinned but it didn’t reach his eyes, “Is this why you were late?”

Bucky wanted to be honest. Last night when Bucky had been texting Steve, they had decided he would be over some time around 10 am. But he didn’t get to sleep until 3 am and, when he woke up at 7, he didn’t want to do shit. Eventually, he pulled himself off the futon, grabbed some clothes and his wallet before heading out, completely forgetting his backpack that he’d packed the night before and left by the front door. It wasn’t until after he’d wasted the fifteen minutes at the bakery that he realized he’d forgotten his keys at the apartment too and almost started crying _over his fucking keys_ in the middle of the beer section at the grocery store. That was when he knew he was fucked, but he steeled himself for visiting Steve. He didn’t want Steve to see his down side any more so than he had the previous weekend. He was still mad at himself that he let thinking about his exes get under his skin like that and pull him down, but if he could just pull himself out of this fucking hole he would be _fine_.

“Couldn’t decide what to get. Thought it would be a nice treat.” He forced himself to smile bigger and answer the rest of Steve’s questions, “Sorry about not texting you, I guess I forgot my phone at home… and my backpack, apparently. I was kind of out of it this morning.”

“How are you feeling now?” Bucky didn’t realize, but Steve had been watching him since his nap the previous weekend. Even though he didn’t see Bucky every day, he’d been watching his behavior flip flop all week through his texts and in class. At first he’d chalked it up to a weird weekend; the previous weekend was the first time they’d been more intimate than kissing on the couch, but now he was beginning to wonder if what Bucky wouldn’t talk to him about last weekend wasn’t their new intimacy itself.

Bucky shrugged, “Fine, it’s just been a weird week.” He looked Steve in the eyes, “Look, all I really wanna do is drink, eat, and kiss you. Can we do that?” He was almost pleading, but he was trying so fucking hard to keep it out of his voice.

Steve watched Bucky as the other darted his eyes down to the floor; his plea spilled out and he looked anywhere but Steve, “Yeah,” he said gently, “as long as I can feed you some of this cheesecake and smear it on your face.” Bucky hinted at a smile and gave Steve a quick hug before Steve turned away towards the kitchen.

Bucky toed his shoes off and made his way over to the couch and flipped through the movie channels until finding an interesting one. Steve made a show of getting forks for the cheesecake and a few other snacks from the pantry, but he kept an eye on the younger man on the couch. He didn’t want to pressure Bucky into telling him anything he didn’t want to, but he doubted this change in his behavior was nothing to be worried about. 

Sure, they hadn’t been seeing each other for long but Steve thought he had Bucky at least a _little_ figured out. So he was obviously worried when – after having texted and called Bucky in all of his spare time on weeknights – Bucky was almost an hour late with no phone call to be had or text saying “be there soon, running late.” If Bucky had shown up with his backpack he would have been a little less worried. His initial thought was that Bucky was considering not staying the night, that last weekend was too much. Was it too soon to stay over again? Maybe he shouldn’t have pressured the younger man into anything. But Bucky brushed it off as just being forgetful. And maybe he was this morning, Steve thought, but maybe I should ask him about it again.

Steve put the food on the table and sat down on the couch, grabbing a beer for himself and one for Bucky. Bucky sighed and downed a quarter of it right there before settling back next to Steve. The older man wrapped his arm around Bucky and the younger man sunk into his side.

“I’m guessing since you didn’t bring your backpack, that’s a no on you bringing homework this week?” Steve casually asked.

“You guessed it.”

“Do you still want to stay the night?” he prodded, “because I can take you home later if you don’t want to.”

“Do you not want me to?” Bucky turned his head and looked at Steve, confused. He thought that it had been settled already that he was staying the night, and probably would every weekend in the near future. He felt a vague panic in his chest; had he missed some obvious cue that Steve wanted a weekend to himself?

Steve searched Bucky’s eyes, were they even on the same page right now? “I thought that was maybe an easy way of breaking it to me.”

Bucky sighed and leaned forward and put his can on the table. He turned back to Steve and gave the older man his full attention, brushing the hair out of his face. “Steve, I’m pretty sure I want the same things you do. And I _definitely_ want to stay the night. I’m being serious when I say that I forgot my backpack. It’s just been a weird fuckin’ week.” He slid his hand and took hold of Steve’s, lacing their fingers together tight.

Steve glanced down at their hands and reached for Bucky’s other, “You have been…off. I thought it was me but that’s an arrogant assumption, huh?”

“You’re hot, but not everything has to be about you, Steve.” Bucky sighed exaggeratingly and Steve chuckled.

“Do you wanna talk about this hell of a week?”

Bucky shrugged, “I really just want you to distract me?”

~x~

To say that Bucky was touch-starved would have been an understatement. Before the previous weekend, it had been over a year since he’d been touched intimately – and in turn naked with anyone other than himself – so after having spent half the weekend in Steve’s bed the previous Sunday, however much his mind was still in a shitty valley, his libido was in hyperdrive.

Last weekend, he and Steve _technically_ only got to third base with each other, so the lack of dick in his ass had left him pining for the raw feeling and left him severely wanting. So he’d been trying to think of anything but the last time he’d had sex all week, especially since that last experience was unpleasant. He didn’t want to think about that douchenozzle, but the fucker’s smug face kept creeping back into Bucky’s thoughts.

Thankfully, it was really hard to think about exes when Steve doesn’t-know-how-tight-his-sweaters-are Rogers is pushing your body down into the couch cushions with an erection the size of the Empire State Building growing to match your own.

Steve pinned Bucky down and settled a thigh between his legs, starting with sweet kisses that Bucky quickly turned heated and hungry. He licked a stripe up Bucky’s neck and rubbed his beard against the other’s jawbone until he met him in a warm, deep kiss. It made the younger man shiver under his fingertips.

“Tell me what you want.” Steve mumbled thickly.

Bucky grinned. His mind was racing - he’d had over a dozen fantasies of this exact situation and all of them ended with him being fucked senseless. What should he say? Should he be coy? Honest? Push Steve back and attempt to be intimidating? There was no fucking use. He just wanted Steve’s hands everywhere they could reach and to bruise the parts of his body he wasn’t even sure he had anymore.

Bucky tugged on Steve’s hair, mussing up his perfectly combed blonde coif, and pulled him back to look him in the eyes. Steve’s eyes were dark and his mouth was open, and Bucky thought it was the definition of sex. It was obvious what _he_ wanted. Bucky’s voice was soft as he pulled Steve closer - he still had him by the hair and Steve’s eyes flicked between Bucky’s eyes and mouth. Bucky leaned forward and licked Steve’s bottom lip between words, “I want you to bend me over.” Lick. “And fuck me so hard into the mattress,” light kiss, “I won’t be able to sit in class Tuesday.” Lick. “And every time you see my pained expression,” Bite, “You’ll know it was your fault.”

Steve’s eyes darkened and he met Bucky with a quick, hard kiss. He pulled Bucky up off the couch and tugged him down the hallway. The younger man trailed behind as Steve pulled him into the bedroom. Steve didn’t bother with the lights; there was enough natural light coming from the one window to give the room a faint glow that ghosted the room and made Steve’s blue and grey bed set radiate invitingly. He pulled Bucky close into another deep, messy kiss with tongue and teeth.

Steve’s beard roughly rubbed against Bucky’s own stubble, the friction bristling his insides and rising up within him. Bucky grabbed at Steve’s shirt as Steve fumbled with his own pants; they were a mess of arms and legs trying to remove themselves of clothing.

Steve roughly pushed Bucky down onto the mattress and Bucky bounced, scooting up to the pillows, his heart pounding. Steve, still at the bottom of the bed, grabbed Bucky by the ankles and pulled him back down a foot away from the pillows. He crawled on top of the younger man, lips trailing and biting, the heat radiating through Bucky’s skin making his whole being tingle with anticipation. When he reached Bucky’s chest, he licked a long stripe up his tattooed sword and sunk a hard bite into the sensitive skin at the base of Bucky’s neck making the younger man groan and lift up beneath him.

Steve murmured and Bucky could tell he was smiling, “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you shirtless.”

“Sorry you waited so long,” he lifted his hips and ground into the other man’s, “I can think of more things to do though.”

“Right,” Steve pressed another kiss and sucked on Bucky’s neck, who writhed underneath him, “you’re totally right.”

He moved down the younger man’s body, trailing kisses all the way back down the sword and stopping at his boxer shorts. He raised his eyes to see the younger man staring down at him, who smiled and said, “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be gentle.”

Steve grinned wickedly, “Oh baby… I’ll be anything but.”

With little more hesitation Steve gracefully pulled down Bucky’s shorts and got to work.

This was not by any means Steve’s first time. Neither was it Bucky’s, but it was obvious in the way that Steve took care with Bucky’s body and didn’t force him to go too fast. _And yet_ , Bucky thought as Steve pressed his arms down into his back as he faced down on the bed, fingers knuckle deep in his ass, _Steve could go a little faster._

As if Steve could read his mind, he spread his fingers wide and slipped in one more. Bucky winced as the digit was added and groaned. 

“Still good?” Steve checked in. Bucky nodded. “I need words, Buck.”

Bucky sighed into the mattress, “M’good Steve, doing good.”

“Think you’re ready?”

Bucky pushed himself up and back into Steve’s hand for an answer. Steve let Bucky’s hands go and smacked his butt as he got up off the bed and dug in the nightstand.

“You said you’d talk dirty to me.” Bucky eyed Steve as he crawled back on the bed, unwrapping the condom he’d grabbed.

Steve grinned, then dropped into a façade. “I didn’t ask you to talk. Lay face down. Now.”

Bucky laid back down and felt Steve graze a hand down his back and pull his hips up so he was on his knees. Steve’s voice was deep and gravelly, “Look at you, so stretched for me. You’re gonna take me well I know it.” He pushed down roughly on Bucky’s back shoving his chest down into the mattress, his ass sticking up in the air. “I’m gonna let up, but you stay. What’s your color?”

Bucky drew a deep breath, “Green.” He was green. He was green. Green was good and he was green. Right? They were playing. He couldn’t get Steve to repeat how his voice sounded, but the tone reverberated in his head. _Green_. They were playing though. He was seconds away from having dick, he was totally green.

He had asked for this, so why was his mind racing – why was his chest constricting – why did it feel like he was going to cry?

Bucky moved to get up but Steve placed a firm hand on his back to keep him from moving and quietly demanded, “Didn’t I ask you to stay?”

Bucky took a deep breath to calm himself but his face wouldn’t cooperate. He buried his face into the mattress and gripped one of the thick pillows. He would fucking bite into it – he would tear it apart if he had to. He wanted this. He wanted this with Steve – he wanted to be fucked senseless until he couldn’t walk – _goddammit_ why wasn’t his body cooperating!

Steve lined himself up at Bucky’s entrance. One hand was on his own dick, the other was placed firmly on Bucky’s hips to hold him in place. Bucky felt the head of Steve’s cock rub against his ass and his heart accelerated: his eyes could see the blue of Steve’s pillowcases and the grey of Steve’s soft as silk sheets, but his mind was telling him he wasn’t in Steve’s bedroom anymore.

Bucky gripped the pillow tighter and shoved his face down into the sheets and tried to get himself out of his own mind: he was in a dark bedroom and the voice wasn’t Steve’s. The blanket by his feet wasn’t a comforter – it was a thick polar fleece number that burned his feet like fire. The body behind him wasn’t Steve’s; it was a broader figure with a deep voice to match. And the voice from his memory wasn’t saying anything coherent - nothing that made sense, but the sentiment was clear: “You’re going to take it because you’re _mine_.” But even then Bucky had wanted it. He wanted it so bad he could have jumped out of his skin, but the moment that son of a bitch entered him, he hated him. They weren’t fuck buddies anymore, this was something else.

Tears started to leak from Bucky’s eyes before Steve’s head even breached and he couldn’t do it. Bucky quickly rolled away and Steve leaned back, confused. Bucky scooted away and held out his left hand for Steve to back off. The metallic limb reacted with the rest of his body and locked rigidly in place while Bucky hid his face and wiped his tears in the crook of his other arm. He would be fine – he would, he knew he fucking would – but he just needed something. A moment to himself or fucking _anything_.

“Bucky what’s--?” Steve was bewildered; he wasn’t expecting this and he wasn’t sure what to do. He reached his arms out to try and pull the younger man close, but Bucky’s hand was firm against his bare chest. He watched as Bucky’s face screwed up in a grimace and a sob broke loose; the metal plates shifted and his arm unlocked itself allowing Bucky to finally drop it, letting Steve pull him close. “Shhhhhh….”

Steve shifted their positions and pulled Bucky up on to his lap and Bucky curled into himself and buried his face in his own arms. Steve held onto Bucky tight and hushed him until he calmed down a bit. A dozen thoughts were running through his mind, the biggest one … he didn’t want to think about but he knew they’d need to talk about. “Bucky,” Steve said softly, “Bucky, you know I’d never hurt you on purpose, right? If I hurt you I need you to tell me.”

Bucky shook his head furiously. His voice was muffled and broken by his choked breathing, “S’not y-you.”

Steve released one arm and used it to brush the other’s hair back, “Bucky you need to talk to me about it, we can’t … I need to know so I can help.” Steve was trying to keep his voice strong but, fuck, how could he when his partner was falling apart in his arms and he wasn’t sure why? “Please?” 

“Just…” Bucky inhaled quick and coughed, his breathing still erratic, “Just. Stop…. A minute.”

Steve wrapped Bucky in his arms again, he combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair and soothed him. They sat there naked, Steve with his forehead resting on Bucky’s neck, Bucky curled up in Steve’s lap with his toes buried in the soft comforter, until Bucky’s breathing returned to normal. Bucky lifted his head and wiped his eyes roughly with his hands and laid his head on Steve’s chest. Steve nudged Bucky’s head with his nose to get the other to look at him but he wouldn’t.

Bucky took a deep breath and his voice broke again, “I’m sorry, Steve. I just… I remembered something I didn’t want to.”

Steve squeezed Bucky tighter, but didn’t say anything. The younger man continued, “Before you. About a year ago. I met this guy and we… used each other? I guess we were fuck buddies … I dunno.” Bucky let out a shaky breath, “Things were always consensual. But the last time we were together, things were rough. It’s like. He knew it would be the last time and wanted me to hurt.”

He looked up at Steve whose eyes were pained and Steve responded, “Bucky, were you—”

“No! I mean… I don’t think I was.” Bucky buried his face in his hands again, “I never said no … I just took it. And when I started crying he stopped but I just…” Another sob left his mouth and he curled into Steve again.

“Hey….” Steve soothed, “I’m not going to say it’s okay…of course it’s not okay you’re hurting like this. But … he’s gone, yeah? And Bucky,” Steve released his arm from around the younger man and lifted his chin up. Tears glistened down his cheeks and Steve took a thumb and gently wiped them away, “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We won’t be rough anymore if it brings back bad memories.”

Bucky nodded. He was exhausted now. He placed a kiss to Steve’s shoulder and looked up at his partner, “Can we just go back to cuddling for today?”

“Of course we can. And y’know, you still have some cheesecake left.” Steve nudged Bucky’s ear with his nose, “We can snack and cuddle, how does that sound?”

Bucky leaned into the nuzzle, “Sounds perfect.”


	7. Of Recovery and New Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky takes the road to emotional recovery and spends some well-deserved time with Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! AN UPDATE! FYI: I have the rest of the story planned out, I just have to actually sit down and WRITE IT. I started grad school this fall, so I'll have even less time than before, BUT since I know where this is going I'm hoping to actually get it written. No guarantees on end date, but it'll be 11 chapters for sure - including the epilogue. Also, I'm making a playlist to go with this. It'll be made available soon. Thanks for reading! xo - C

The next couple of weeks passed by with a slow drag; recovery from low points always took Bucky some time, but eventually things started to look up. Bucky stayed the weekend with Steve, borrowing some clothes and stealing a new toothbrush from Steve’s bathroom supplies, and _maybe_ burrowing under more blankets than necessary. Steve took Bucky’s depression gracefully, which Bucky was grateful for; in the past when he’d gotten sullen those around him would get angry for his withdrawals, but Steve didn’t put any pressure on him to talk and even offered to drive him home.

“I guess I do better around people,” Bucky admitted. His head was resting on Steve’s lap and he was covered in two of the fluffiest blankets he found in Steve’s linen closet, “But it’s hard.”

Steve nodded. Sure, he didn’t know exactly what Bucky was feeling or going through, but he knew enough to know that when you’re feeling shitty, putting on an act for others is the last thing you want to force yourself to do. Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair and rested his hand there, “Does your friend know? Natasha, I mean.”

Bucky shrugged, going quiet again. He turned his face from Steve to the TV; Scrubs re-runs were on. Bucky had never watched the show but he didn’t really care what they watched as long as he could stay here.

Steve’s voice gently broke through Bucky’s thoughts, “You should tell her. Friends are good for having your back. If you don’t want to see a therapist, you should at least talk to her.” Bucky shrugged again, but Steve persisted, “For me?”

Bucky turned back to Steve. He took a moment to really look at him, as if he hadn’t looked at him all weekend: Steve’s hair was not combed back in its usual neat way - it stuck out at various angles as if he had kept running a hand through it; his shirt was rumpled from where Bucky had been pressed against his chest in some form all afternoon; but most of all, hidden under the tiredness that was starting to show from their long weekend, he saw a hint of sadness in Steve’s eyes. “Okay.”

X

Sunday evening found Bucky back home in his apartment with much thanks to Steve who helped him pick the lock to the front door since Bucky didn’t even have his phone on him to call his landlord for the spare key. He wasn’t really that grateful to be home – having spent the weekend in the arms of a handsome beefcake whom Bucky knew cared about him was wonderful, and now he would be alone with his thoughts again. But, the fact that Steve left him with another book and a sweet kiss had definitely helped lift his spirits.

Finally settling down (after locating his keys and phone again) he resolved to keep his promise to Steve and decided to call Natasha. He was hoping she wouldn’t have anything better to do, but obviously he was wrong. She answered after the second ring.

“What’s cracking Buckaroo?” 

“Hey… you got a second?”

“Plenty, what’s wrong?” She said, sensing the distress in his voice. Her own dropped, “It’s not Rogers is it? I swear to god Bucky if he –”

“No! It’s not Steve.” He paused, “I mean he asked me to call you but... he’s not the problem.”

“Okay...”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to continue. With Steve it was easier. Steve could see Bucky’s depression dripping off of him like sweat. With Natasha though… sure he’d known her since high school and she could generally read him like a book, but his low days were something he’d become _very_ good at hiding.

He wasn’t sure where to start, so he just started at the beginning with Elijah. Even the parts of his last fling that she already knew. He made it all the way up to the previous day where he and Steve had gotten intimate before he broke, “It’s fucking ruined me. I can’t fucking do anything. I couldn’t do the shit I was trained to do in the Army and I can’t even fuck now that I’ve got someone decent to fuck with.” He buried his face in his hand and held the other with the phone, trying not to cry. “Steve wouldn’t let me keep it to myself.”

Nat was silent on the other side for a few beats, but when she spoke her voice was soft and kind, “Bucky, I’m glad you told me. Even though you feel like shit, I’m glad you told me.” There was a rustling by the phone like something rubbing across it – a tissue? “You have every right to feel the way you do, but you’ll get through this. We’ll get through this together, okay? First off you’re not useless. You can throw that idea out the fucking window right now,” her voice was firm, “because I’ve known you how many years? When you set your mind to it you’re one of the most dedicated and passionate people I know. And this idea about not feeling worthy of love is bullshit, too. You’re so full of love, Bucky. I see it in you when we talk about movies, when we go out to eat Chinese food, when you’re so engrossed in reading something – you have that capacity to receive love too. That’s why you were able to call me.”

Bucky was silent. He wiped his tears and nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see him.

She paused before continuing, “Do you want me to come over tonight?”

He cleared his throat, “No, you don’t have to.”

“How about we hang out tomorrow then? Dinner. You’ve got to meet this guy I’ve been seeing.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed, “What? Since when?”

“Since you’ve been making heart eyes at Rogers on the weekends. I had to fill my time somehow, didn’t I? C’mon. Pizza and board games. We’ll even play Clue.”

“Nat… I dunno.”

“Don’t piss on the party, Bucky. I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think you guys wouldn’t get along. Plus, I really like this guy and hope he’ll stick around.”

“I guess so.” Bucky grumbled, “Anything I need to know about him?” He pushed a book around the coffee table with his free hand.

“He’s got great lips and beautiful eyes.”

“Okay,” he drawled, “Anything more relevant to _me_ , smartass?”

“Yeah, you’ve got the same fucked sense of humor so you should get along swell.” He could practically feel Natasha nudging him gently through the phone, “You gonna be alright ‘til tomorrow JB?”  
He sighed, thinking about how he lasted the weekend with Steve and how a night to himself may do some good instead of harm after all, especially if he stayed with Natasha the next couple of days – if not over for the night, then at least the majority of his day. “Yeah, I’m just gonna put on some music and try to sleep till tomorrow.”

“Just remember I’m a call away. Okay?”

Bucky smiled at the thought. He didn’t know why he didn’t trust Natasha sooner; he wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but definitely not the love and acceptance that radiated out of this conversation.  
“Yeah. ‘Night Nat.”

“See you in the morning, JB. Get some rest.”

He tossed his phone on the floor and moved through the motions to get ready for bed, forcing himself up for a shower, to brush his teeth and actually move things around to pull out the futon. The book Steve had given him looked at him sadly from where it sat on the coffee table. Instead of reading, Bucky hit the lights and turned on his phone, opening his music app to listen to The Door’s _Morrison Hotel_. Jim Morrison’s voice shimmied its way through the air, lulling him into a quiet, thoughtful state. As the last verse for “Waiting for the Sun” played, the hectic thoughts finally quelled and Bucky drifted off to sleep.

X

Bucky forced himself to get up on time Monday morning, promptly at 8.30 am. His first class started at 10, giving him a decent amount of time to get his ass in gear, find clean clothes, get his bag together and walk his way to campus to find Natasha all before class. He was still pretty down, but by the time he’d showered and checked the time on his phone he found a short text on his phone that lifted his spirits again, just a little.

“Thinking of you. I hope you have a good day, B”.

Even the dreary day couldn’t dampen the shmoopy feeling he got from Steve’s text. The walk in the rain wasn’t even _that bad_. 

xx

The evening found him meeting up with Natasha on the quad waiting for her new man-friend.

Bucky stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and slumped down on the bench and asked, “So what’s this guy like again?” Bucky didn’t really enjoy meeting new people – they tended to either want him to talk a _lot_ more than he wanted to, or they ended up being awkward about his appendage, but for Nat he’d do anything. 

Natasha briefly looked up from her phone, where she was furiously typing away – to Clint most likely, “He’s on the track team and throws javelin, but in his spare time he likes shooting targets.”

Bucky perked up, “Target practice? Like, with guns?”

Natasha glanced back down at her phone and hit send, “Nah, arrows. Archery.”

Bucky nodded, impressed. He’d given archery a shot during his free time before the accident; he was shit at it and never hit a single bullseye. Hell, he’d barely hit the target, period. Target practice with a gun on the other hand...

Nat continued and shrugged noncommittally, “He plays video games. Watches movies. Typical people things.”

“Yeah, that totally lets me know what to expect.”

“Like I said, I think you two will get along. You have a lot in common – he’s just more… of a people person?” She grinned and waited for the indignation to hit him, “No offense.”

“Full offense taken.” Bucky sat up and looked around, “Is he on his way?”

Natasha looked towards the far right sidewalk and nodded, “Right on time.” She stood up and pulled Bucky by the arm, “C’mon.”

They started to make their way over across the greenway and Natasha gave a big wave at Clint to get his attention and started to jog towards him. Bucky rolled his eyes at her – she was almost _too_ excited about this guy - but moved quicker to catch up with her regardless.

The stocky, dirty blonde enthusiastically waved back and cracked into a large grin, meeting Natasha in a warm embrace. When they pulled away Natasha introduced them both.  
Bucky eyed his friend’s date with mild suspicion, but couldn’t note anything to complain about: the leather jacket and red shirt, messy hair and seemingly charming personality – definitely Nat’s type. He shoved out his hand, “I’ve heard good things about you.”

Clint extended his hand and his smile reached his eyes, “I hope. I’ve only heard rotten things about you.” Bucky’s eyes widened before Clint laughed, “Kidding, kidding. Nat’s only told me the good things, too.”

They chatted for a few moments longer before Nat interrupted, “Are we still on for pizza and board games?”

“Maurice’s,” Clint spoke up, “I’m buying.”

Bucky couldn’t complain, “Alright, well I’ve got the drinks then. Beer on me.”

X

Back at Nat’s apartment, the two large pizzas that were ordered were devoured – but at least not instantly, thanks to conversation and the rerun of _Bob’s Burgers_ in the background.

“So,” Clint looked pointedly at Bucky, sometime after his second beer and fourth slice of pizza, “Nat tells me you’ve been avoiding her on weekends to spend time with some hot stud. Anyone I know?”

Bucky almost choked on his pizza, giving Natasha a side-eyed glare. They were all sitting on the floor, Bucky at the end of the coffee table, legs wrapped around a table leg; Natasha and Clint had their backs to the couch, the redhead leaned on her boyfriend’s side with her head on his shoulder. If he were ten years old again he would have kicked her, or pinched her. “His name’s Steve, but… I doubt you’d know him.”

“Does he go here?”

He could tell that Clint was being genuinely curious, but knew that he couldn’t _actually_ tell the guy anything. Nat trusted him, obviously, but what if this got out? Bucky hedged, hoping Natasha would tag team the answer, “No. He graduated a while back.”

Nat nudged Bucky with her foot and grinned, saving him, “All about the older guys aren’t you?”

He rolled his eyes, but Clint chimed back in, “Well, must be a pretty great guy to take all your time?”

Bucky didn’t miss the sly look that he gave Natasha, looking down at the top of her head and the shmoopy one she gave Clint even though he couldn’t see it – she was totally done for. _They_ were totally done for. His insides twisted: was this how he acted when he was alone with Steve – totally loose, totally carefree, total heart eyes? Thinking back to the previous weekends, a stupid grin graced his face. Cuddling on the couch, the feel of Steve’s warmth radiating through his skin and the feel of wanting to stay there forever, watching movies and making out, arguing about books and sitting next to each other and doing nothing but reading. Yeah – his insides flipped again - he was done for, too. And to think, if he hadn’t have went out for coffee none of this would have happened.

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled – he couldn’t fucking help it – and Natasha beamed at him, “he’s one of a kind. You wouldn’t expect him to be such a cool guy but sometimes people surprise you.”


End file.
